


The Diary of Thomas Ellison

by Bluewolf458



Series: Escape [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Gen, Sentinel Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 21:47:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14222466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: Jim finds some old diaries that explain a lot





	The Diary of Thomas Ellison

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2018 Sentinel Bingo prompt 'in another man's shoes'

 

The Diary of Thomas Ellison

by Bluewolf

If Jimmy had thought his life was bad before Steven left, he was instantly and totally disillusioned. William behaved as if it were Jimmy's fault; that it was Jimmy's fault that Stevie had been so rebellious.

At least now he limited his abuse to tongue-lashing, accepting that Jimmy, at twenty-two, was too old to be spanked.

Though Jimmy would have preferred the spanking he had suffered on a regular basis up until he was eighteen. The constant verbal abuse, the constant reiteration of how useless he was, was wearing him down. He did the best he could at work, but he had less responsibility there than the lowliest office clerk; his father's constant assurance that he was useless keeping him in the lowest possible position. He was aware that his father's other employees were sorry for him, suspected them of thinking that this was his father's way of avoiding claims of family favoritism.

God, if it had only been that!

Why did his father want him working in the family business when he so obviously didn't trust Jimmy to do anything right?

***

One night not long after Stevie walked out, Jimmy lay in bed too tired to sleep, wondering why his father was so determined to denigrate whatever he did.

The next day was Saturday; and William had already decreed that Jimmy spend the day clearing the attic. Anything that had been stored there, unused, for more than a year, tops, should be thrown out.

As he thought about that, Jimmy sighed. Whatever he decided would, he knew, be wrong. "Use your initiative! This could still be useful!" William would tell him - despite having made sure that Jimmy had no initiative, that he would follow William's orders to the letter. Even suggesting recycling things in good condition that could still be useful would, in William's book, be wrong - "People should be buying things new, encouraging the growth of industry!"

It never seemed to occur to William that a lot of what he said, apparently purely to accuse Jimmy of being wrong, was inconsistent.

***

In the morning, after an early breakfast, Jimmy made his way up to the attic.

He pulled out box after box - many of them holding clothes that, while in good condition, had been outgrown. There was one box of his school books, one of Stevie's. Deeper in the attic were boxes of things that had belonged to his dead mother, and some that had belonged to his grandparents.

Jimmy carefully made two piles; one of things he thought - hoped - could just be thrown out, the other of things he would, once again, try to persuade his father could be given to one of the charity shops. He knew William's unsympathetic response to the suggestion - "People who depend on charity are just lazy!" and carefully rehearsed his argument that organizations like the Red Cross gave aid to places that had suffered massive natural disasters, and it wasn't laziness for someone badly injured in a serious earthquake to need help. He was quite sure his father would dismiss that as irrelevant.

And then, tucked away in a corner, he found a relatively small box. He opened it and found three notebooks. One had written on it in fairly juvenile handwriting, 'Journal May 1946 to August 1948'. The next, in slightly more mature writing, was titled 'Journal September 1948 to June 1950'. The third was 'Journal July 1950 to - '

Diaries? His father's, perhaps? He opened the first.

It began 'Journal of Thomas Ellison. May 5th 1946. I don't understand William. It was our birthday today, and while we got different presents - well, we aren't interested in the same things - I know Mama was very careful to spend exactly the same amount of money on us both. But William behaved as if he should have got more just because he's twenty minutes older.'

Jimmy's jaw dropped. His father had a younger twin brother?

He skimmed through the following pages, and quickly saw the pattern developing - or, rather, one that had already developed. William was jealous - very jealous - of his brother. And then, early in the second journal, he found the damning words. 'I don't know why I can hear things and see things so much better than William, but he wants to be the one who can see and hear things clearly.'

What had happened to Thomas? Dared he ask? Probably not.

But it explained a lot. Jimmy now knew that he was suffering for the resentment of his brother that William had been unable to do anything about when he was just entering his teens... in effect, Jimmy was walking in Thomas's shoes, having the same gifts... the gifts that William wanted. William had been unable to do anything about Thomas... but he could, and had, taken out that resentment on Jimmy.

He turned to the end of the third journal, wondering if Thomas's final entry would say anything that might give a clue.

It did. It spoke of his increasing inability to control his excellent sight and hearing - it was clear that if he could have given these to his brother, he would have - and the blank spells he sometimes had when seeing or hearing something. 'I'm afraid that one day I won't waken from one of them.' It was the last entry.

Had he died in one of his blank spells? Jimmy was quietly certain that William wasn't aware of them... and suddenly grateful that his father had bullied him into forgetting he could hear and see really well.

And now he understood something of what had motivated his father... he realized that he could follow Stevie and try to make a life for himself.

It wasn't him, had never been about him; it had always been about Thomas.


End file.
